


Johnlock Omorashi Ficlets

by StarScribbler



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Christmas, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Omorashi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-09-27 12:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17162120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarScribbler/pseuds/StarScribbler
Summary: A series of short stories involving John, Sherlock,  omorashi, and the elephant in the room (i.e. their love for each other). Requests accepted. :)





	1. John Watson Bed Wetting at the Holmes' House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous6285](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous6285/gifts), [SparksOfDesire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparksOfDesire/gifts).



> Chapters are individually labeled.

"Sherlock, Dear, breakfast is just about ready. How about you go see if John's awake," Mrs. Holmes suggested as she pulled the quiche out of the oven.

"Yes, Mummy," Sherlock replied, jumping down from where he had been sitting on the kitchen counter.

He shuffled up the maple staircase and headed towards the guest room where John was staying. Mummy had insisted Sherlock come home for Christmas, and Sherlock had only agreed to come on the condition that John could tag along.

"John," Sherlock whispered, knocking lightly at the door. He waited for a reply. None came.

Sherlock turned the knob gently and pushed the door open, peering into the dim room. He could make out a figure shaking under the covers and the sound of heavy breathing.

"John, are you cold?" he queried. "You could have come and asked me for extra blankets. You know I barely sleep anyway." John gave no reply.

Sherlock walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, one hand lightly shaking the lump of bedding housing his army doctor, and the other flicking on the lamp sitting on the nightstand. "John, it's time to wake up. Mummy has breakfast ready," he whispered.

Sherlock felt the lump beneath his hand stir and heard faint sniffling.

"John-" Sherlock pulled down the blanket to reveal a splotchy, tear-stained face.

"John, are you sick? Can you tell me what hurts?"

"I-" John started with a choked voice.

Sherlock pressed his hand against his friend's sweaty forehead and lightly patted down his shaking form. He felt moisture around his waist and began panicking. He yanked the blanket off John expecting to see a puddle of blood, but he was met with faintly yellow centered around John's groin.

_Oh._

"It's okay, John. Shhhh. It's okay," Sherlock murmured rubbing John's shoulder gently. "Are you feeling sick, or was this just an accident?" _  
_

"Accident," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. I never-"

"You don't need to apologize, John. There are many biological and psychological factors that could have caused it. It's not your fault."

"Still bloody embarrassing," John groaned looking up at Sherlock.

"Nonsense, John. It's just me, and if you think I haven't wet myself before, or more generally, that I care about something so trivial, you are quite mistaken." He patted John's shoulder reassuringly and reached down to wipe away the tears under his eyes. "C'mon, let's get you up."

John pushed himself into a sitting position, his shoulder coming to rest against Sherlock's. He stared down at his yellow pants and vest. He had originally planned on getting dressed before heading to the loo down the hall, but now that wasn't really an option. 

"Do you think-" he started, his cheeks turning pink. He looked doen ashamed. "Could you maybe grab me a robe from the loo so I could walk over? I don't really want Mycroft of your dad seeing me like this."

"In response to your first question, absolutely. In response to that second part, Mycroft wet the bed well into his teens. If he has the gall to mock you, I will see to it that he is publicly shamed and executed." Sherlock gave John a gentle smirk as he rose from the bed. "Be right back," he promised before shutting the door.

A minute later, Sherlock returned, fluffy robe in hand. "Here we go, John."

"Thanks, Sherlock."

The detective shuffled over to John, who was sitting at the edge of the bed. "Can I take this off now so I can collect all the dirty laundry in one place?" he asked, reaching down to take hold of the bottom of John's vest.

"Uh, sure, yeah," John murmured against Sherlock's warm shoulder.

Gently, the detective pulled the soiled garment over his friends head, taking the opportunity to caress his back. Then he grabbed the robe and helped John slide his arms into it. The sleeves were so long that his hands didn't even show out the other side until Sherlock rolled up the cuffs a few times. Once John's pink fingers were in sight, Sherlock clasped them in his own and pulled John to a standing position, smiling gently at the doctor the entire time. He then reached down and tied the belt into a loose bow.

"John, I'm hoping to do the laundry while you shower. Would you be able to step out of your pants now so I could..."

"Sherlock, you don't need to do my laundry. I can-"

"John, please let me. I'll be waiting for you anyway. I don't want to eat without you."

"Okay, thanks," he whispered, defeated.

Sherlock turned around to give John privacy while he pulled down his pants and tossed them with his vest, but when he turned to face John again, he saw tears welling in his eyes.

"John, are-"

John's pink face crumbled and tears began to race down it. He squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around himself, holding himself as sobs began to rack his small frame.

"John, did I do something to hurt you?"

No response.

"Do you want a hug?"

John nodded jerkily. He took a blind step in Sherlock's direction, and Sherlock met him half way, catching and enveloping John's shaking body with his own strong arms. John sobbed into Sherlock's chest for a couple minutes as he was gently rocked back and forth.

"Thanks," he sniffled after a couple minutes.

"Absolutely any time, John," Sherlock replied, his thumb rubbing the base of John's neck. He then brought both of his hands up to wipe the vestiges of tears from John's cheeks. "Go shower. I'll be waiting for you."

John shuffled out of the room and took one of the most needed showers of his life. He emerged to find Sherlock sitting cross-legged outside the door humming to himself. The detective promptly stood up and took John's hand with a smile, leading him down to breakfast.

"Your parents are going to think we're a couple," John joked, though he made no move to pull his hand from Sherlock's.

"Honestly, John, if we're not a couple, I wonder who is."


	2. Bar wetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets wasted at a bar and can't quite control his bladder on the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while stretching at the gym. Hope you enjoy!

“Says the girl who sleeps with her professor for a grade boost!” Sherlock snarled, leaning over the bar. The object of his insult made a shocked sound and dropped the drink in her hand onto the counter.

“Alright, Sherlock, I think it's time to go home,” John insisted, pulling Sherlock back with an arm around the waist. “Sorry about that.” He slid the bartender a bundle of cash.

“But John, I need to test the effects of 4 particular drinks consumed in a row on a person of approximately my height and weight,” Sherlock whined, pushing weakly at the muscular arms encircling him.

“You already have, Mate,” John chuckled as he dragged his flatmate to the door of the bar. He propped Sherlock's writhing body up against his own right side and reached to open the door with his left hand.

“I have? Then what are the effects?” Sherlock attempted unsuccessfully to turn around and face John.

“I'll tell you in the morning. But for now, we need to get to you bed.” John pulled his friend to the curb and hailed a cab.

“Bed's boring,” Sherlock exclaimed dramatically throwing his arms wildly into the air.

“Watch your head,” John advised as he helped collapse Sherlock's lanky frame into the back seat of the car.

“Boring,” Sherlock muttered.

They rode in silence for a few minutes.

“Where are we John?” Sherlock asked emphatically, as though he had suddenly woken up in a magical dream land.

“On the way home from a bar,” John replied calmly.

“Sooo No bathroom?” Sherlock asked in the same tone he used when he was double checking with John that running experiments on unknowing waiters is, in fact unethical, or studying John's masturbatory habits without consent is, in fact, wrong.

“Umm,” John hummed, not exactly sure what his friend was asking. “You didn't go at the bar, and there isn't one right here.”

“Can I go right here?” Sherlock asked in a genuinely inquisitive tone.

“Uh, no. Wait till we get home.” John patted his knee and turned to look out the window.

Out of the corner of his eye, the doctor watched Sherlock shift and squirm in his seat, his large hands tentatively touching his crotch, as though he knew that they could help with his problem, but he couldn't remember how.

“Sherlock-”

“I have to piss John,” Sherlock shared. Evidently he thought it hadn't already been obvious.

“Yeah, um,” John replied at the redundant statement.

“I think--I just--some just came out!” Panic rose in Sherlock's voice. He looked down at his legs and squeezed them together.

“Try to hold it, okay? Try to focus,” the doctor encouraged.

“I can't John!” Sherlock cried, “It's just coming out. Help me!” He pushed his knees together with shaking arms.

“Shhh shh, calm down,” John murmured. “It's just a little bit of wee. Here, see if holding it helps.” John took Sherlock's hands and guided them to his crotch.

“I can't--it's not,” Sherlock stammered. John felt warm liquid seeping through Sherlock's fingers and onto his own.

“Maybe inside,” he suggested, reaching to undo his friend's trousers. Once the zip was down, he slid Sherlock's hands inside his pants.

“It's still coming. John, I'm weeing my pants!” the detective cried.

“Shhh calm down. It's okay, Sherlock. It's not a big deal. It's dark; no one will see.” John moved one of his hands from the detective's wrist and rubbed his back gently.

“I can't stop it,” Sherlock whimpered.

“Your muscles are really loose right now. That makes sense,” John explained.

Sherlock began sobbing in response: “I don't want to wear nappies!”

“Sherlock, no one's going to make you wear nappies. We'll just clean you up, put you to bed, and you'll feel better in the morning, yeah?” John continued rubbing Sherlock's back until the cab approached their flat. The doctor reached down, removed Sherlock's hands from his pants, and buttoned his trousers. He handed cash to the driver before leaning over to the door and opening it slightly.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock queried with the look of a lost child on his face.

“We're home, Sherlock. Here.” John pulled him out of the cab and guided him up into the flat, up the stairs, and into the bathroom.

“Let's get you cleaned up. Do you want help?”

“Yes please,” Sherlock whispered.

“Okey dokes.” John unbuttoned his friend’s shirt and pulled it, and the vest underneath, off. Then, he undid his flatmate's trousers and helped him step out of them and his soiled yellow pants. The doctor wiped his friend's legs off with a wet flannel while Sherlock brushed his teeth at the sink. After helping him step into clean pants, John led Sherlock to his bedroom.

“Sleep well, Sherlock,” he whispered, tucking the blanket around his small frame.

Sherlock smiled and snuggled into the covers like a child. “Night John. Kisses?”

John couldn't hold back the warm smile that followed Sherlock's innocent request. “When you wake up tomorrow, if you still want them,” he answered with one last pat to his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a kudos and comment! Tell me what other scenes you want me to write :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudos and comment!! I'll fill any Sherlock Holmes prompt, so leave 'em down below! :)


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